Chapter 26 - The cage is no longer the story
Two years and eleven months after I found her, Emily was thirteen.
Taller.
Sharper.
Capable of making me feel ancient by saying:
“Dad, nobody says that anymore.”
She barely remembered the physical feel of the cage.
She remembered:
Wet metal.
Blue tarp.
Hearing Mrs. Harris.
Me breaking the lock.
The pool.
Derek’s voice.
Not every detail.
Good.
She asked once:
“Do you still have the padlock?”
“No.”
“What happened to it?”
“Evidence. Then disposed of.”
She looked disappointed.
“Would’ve been cool to smash it.”
“Movie logic.”
“Still.”
I did not keep the pliers either.
They belonged to Laura’s yard.
Police photographed them.
Returned them eventually with other property.
Tools are tools.
One day I needed pliers to fix a sprinkler head.
Emily brought me a pair.
I took them.
No flashback.
That felt like recovery.
May you like
Not forgetting.
Not making every object responsible.
